The Civil War of the Golden Age
by The Writer0214
Summary: War is on Narnia and the Pevensies must rally to defend their land. But a bitter tragedy turns the two Narnian kings against each other, creating a war not with Narnia's enemies but with Itself. Enjoy! Please read and review!
1. Prologue

**A House Divided**

**(The Civil War of the Golden Age)**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. The Chronicles of Narnia belong to C.S. Lewis.

**Author's Notes:** War is on Narnia and the Pevensies must rally to defend their land. But a bitter tragedy turns the two Narnian kings against each other, creating a war not with Narnia's enemies but with Itself. The Civil War of the Golden Age.

**Prologue**

"Please," Mr. Beaver said, panting, bowing low, his forehead almost touching the ground.

"Their Majesties may not be disturbed," Blilenwaald the Dwarf, Peter's personal secretary said, "They are dining."

"Please," Mr. Beaver repeated.

"I will most gladly convey your message to the High King himself."

"Don't you understand? I _must_ speak to Him directly!"

"_One_ does not demand an audience with the Kings and Queens!" the Dwarf said, hotly.

"Out of my way, swamp-brain!" Mr. Beaver said, pushing past the royal secretary and dashing into the hall where Narnia's four monarchs were dining. In his haste, the poor creature slammed against the table leg and fell over. Lucy and Edmund snickered and laughed, exchanging looks. The situation would have been comical were it not for the news the creature bore and the gravity of it.

"_Stop him!_" Blilenwaald said, barging in, dagger drawn, a Centaur and a Faun, both Royal Guards, behind him.

"It's alright, Blilenwaald," Peter said, rising, "A little interrupted supper is nothing to me. I'm sure my friend Mr. Beaver has some very important news."

"Speak, Friend Beaver," Susan said, smiling.

"Your Graces," the beaver said, bowing, "They have taken our home! Our…our lands… They have a hold of the Western Woods and the Lantern Waste—"

"Slowly, Mr. Beaver," Lucy said, "Who has hold of the Lantern Waste and the Western Woods?"

"Calormenes, M-majesty…" Edmund suddenly stood, his chair falling backwards. Susan shuddered.

"Why was I not informed of this?" Peter said, casting a questioning look on their trusted friend, "You have much to answer for, Friend Beaver."

"Indeed, Sire, begging your mercy—Mr. Tumnus and I set out to warn you, but he has been delayed. I continued on the journey without him."

"Edmund," Peter said, nodding to his brother, "Give orders to the High Guard, in my name, to assemble—form ranks, take them to the Lantern Waste and retrieve Mr. Tumnus. I want him safe."

Edmund nodded, ordered an attendant to bring him his sword, and went to the soldiers' quarters in search of the High Guard.

**-oOo-**

"Blilenwaald," Peter said, nodding, "From this hour forward, you are to be relieved of your duties as royal secretary. Do not fear, this is not a demotion. You are hereby declared High Adviser to me, King Peter."

"It is a great honour, Your Majesty," the Dwarf said, bowing.

"Call for General Oreius, General Ottmin, and Darjeeling the Satyr!" Peter barked, "When my brother King Edmund returns with Mr. Tumnus, we form a council of war! You shall be included in our council, Mr. Beaver."

"And I?" Susan said.

"Your task, sister, and also Lucy's will be to gather all those who are unable to fight. Those too young, too old, or too weak to do so, the females and the children. Lead them to safety." The High Queen and her sister nodded, strapping their weapons about themselves, lest they should meet an ambush on the way.

"What is to be done with those _who do not wish_ to fight?"

"They are to be executed. Immediately. They are deserters and cowards, therefore, they have no place in Narnia."

**-oOo-**

"Form ranks!" Edmund shouted, kicking open the doors of the barracks, "Form ranks! The High King has given orders to form a platoon in search of Tumnus the Faun!"

"Permission to raise question, Sir!" a Dwarf, one of the High Guard, said.

"Speak."

"Has the Faun done anything to displease the King?"

"No. He is to be retrieved and brought to the Cair in safety. His life is in jeopardy."

**-oOo-**

The watchman on the tower blew his horn and the gates of the Cair opened, letting in a party of exhausted Narnians. The High Guard stood aside to let them pass.

"What is going on?" King Edmund questioned.

"The Calormenes have taken the Shuddering Wood, Sire," a monkey named Telemachus said, "They have set their sights on the Dancing Lawn next."

"Is this all of your party?"

"No, Your Grace," Aro the leopard said, "We left the wounded on the road."

"That is most unsafe!" Edmund said, reprimanding them, "No matter. The High Queen and our sister Queen Lucy are on their way. By the Lion's Mane! Has it really come to this? We are besieged on every side. Narnia's enemies are taking her by storm."

"Sire, we are losing time," a member of the High Guard reminded him.

"We ride!" Edmund said, nodding, one hand on his sword hilt, the other on Philip's reins, "For Narnia! And for Aslan!"

"For Narnia! And for Aslan!" came the cry that followed. A horn blew as they charged into the darkest night Narnia has ever known.

**-oOo-**

Peter paced, looking at the map now and again, then looking at each of his three generals.

"Have you no news yet?" he said, agitation in his voice.

"They have taken Shuddering Wood, Sire," Darjeeling the Satyr said, pointing to the region indicated on the map. Peter pounded the oaken table with his fist.

"Blast those infernal Calormenes!"

"We may be able to drive them back yet, Majesty," General Ottmin said.

"How much time do we have?"

A heavy silence fell over them for a couple of minutes.

"It is possible that they may reach Cair Paravel in two days time," the Satyr said.

"How many soldiers can we gather before they reach the Cair?

"We have ninety Minotaurs, My Lord King," General Ottmin said.

"There are five-hundred centaurs under my command," Oreius said.

"Satyrs?"

"Two-hundred, Sire."

"What of the fauns?"

"There are eight-hundred fauns at King Edmund's disposal."

"The woodland creatures?"

"Fifty-seven mice, ninety-four squirrels, and twenty badgers."

"The wolves?"

"There are only twelve wolves loyal to us, Sire," the satyr answered.

"And the dwarves?"

"Seventy, Sire."

"Tigers?"

"Two-hundred."

"Rhinoceroses?"

"A thousand."

"Leopards?"

"One thousand and ninety-two."

"Hyenas?"

"Unfortunately, there are no hyenas that are loyal to us," Oreius said, gravely.

"Beavers?"

"Fifty. Led by Mr. Beaver."

"Griffins?"

"Nine-hundred and eighty."

"Phoenixes?"

"Fifty."

"Hounds? Foxes? Others?"

"The hounds are unaccounted for. And there are three-hundred foxes in your service," Orieus said, ending his report.

"And the High Guard and Royal Guard, by law, are required to march with you and Their Majesties King Edmund, Queen Lucy, and Queen Susan, into battle," Darjeeling added.

"We number four-thousand and fourty-one."


	2. Chapter 1  Waiting & Waiting

**I**

**Waiting & Waiting**

It was now the fourth watch of the night (which corresponds to our midnight). The High King sat up in bed, drenched in sweat. There was so much that was troubling him. Had he lost faith in Aslan? In himself? They seemed merely like ants in the eyes of the Calormene army. They were hemmed in on every side. The seventeen-year-old monarch stood and paced his chambers. Outside in the cold, dark night, fires flickered in the shadows of the trees. These familiar woods now housed Calormene camps, sheltering hundreds of enemy soldiers. He feared for Narnia's safety, for his sisters' safety, for his brother Edmund's safety. For Mr. Tumnus. It was now midnight and there was no news from either Susan and Lucy or Edmund. After thinking and pacing a few more times, he opened the door.

"Send word to Blilenwaald and to Darjeeling," he instructed the guards keeping watch at his door, "Bid them come to my chambers. Haste!"

"Majesty," the guards said, bowing. Peter went back to his room and paced, waiting for one of his generals and his High Adviser. A minute later, the guards came back with them.

"Darjeeling the Satyr and Blilenwaald the Dwarf, Your Majesty," they announced.

"Come in," Peter said, not feeling so magnificent at the moment. Narnia was like ship engulfed by many angry waves.

"We…are…at…your service, Majesty," the satyr said, bowing.

"I thank you both for coming. What news from without? What say General Orieus's scouts?"

"Sire, they report that the Calormenes have taken Beruna. Your brother's party has been overrun."

"Great Aslan!" Peter said, punching the hard stone wall of his room, "Is all lost then?"

"Aslan never lost faith in you, Lord King," Blilenwaald offered, "We must not lose faith in ourselves now."

"We fight," Darjeeling said, nodding, drawing his sword.

"For Narnia," Blilenwaald said, placing his right hand on his heart.

"And for Aslan," Peter said, putting his tunic back on (he usually slept wearing only his cotton leggings).

Suddenly, there was a cry in the night. "_The King! The King! _Open the gates! King Edmund rides victorious!"

"I wish they did not say that," Edmund whispered to Mr. Tumnus as he dismounted. The truth was that they had lost seven of the High Guard in the attempt to rescue the Faun. One had lost his head.

"Edmund! My brother! Edmund!" Peter cried, laughing, running down the steps that led to the doors of the main hall, arms wide open, "You're safe! Tumnus!" He embraced the Faun, and the creature blushed.

"Unfortunately," Edmund said, frowning, "We have lost seven of the High Guard."

"May they reach Aslan's Country in peace," the High King said, solemnly, kneeling before the seven biers.

"May they forever find their rest," Tumnus said, sniffling.

"They were brave soldiers," Edmund said.

"Most brave."

"Come! There will be time to mourn for and bury the dead," Peter said, standing from his kneeling position, "We have much to plan."

**-oOo-**

"We were overrun, Sire," Tumnus said, pacing, his cloven hooves clicking against the hall's alabaster floor, "The parties at Beruna, Lantern Waste, Western Woods, and Shuddering Wood are advancing like fire."

"What of the party at the Dancing Lawn?"

"They are immobile," Edmund said, nodding, "Possibly awaiting further instructions from their generals."

"Did you meet Susan and Lucy's party on the way?"

"They were camped around the Stone Table. The children were too tired to go on."

Peter nodded.

"I do not want to lose unnecessary lives in an offensive attack. We have already lost seven. We must be on the defensive. Darjeeling—how many days did you say the Calormene army will take to reach Cair Paravel?"

"Two days, Lord King."

"What can be done in two days?"

"We can petition the Queen Susan for archers."

"A splendid proposal! Man the walls! But the Cair is not strong enough. We need fortifications in addition to manning the walls."

"We cannot build more walls in two days time," Edmund objected.

"But we can build defensive and offensive machinery. Mr. Tumnus—what do you know of siege towers?"

"They are most reliable in an attack. I have been studying them for the past year."

"And for defense?"

"We may place slings—trebuchets, catapults—around the Cair."

"Good. Very good."

"They may also be used in an offensive."

"Siege ramps? Battering rams?"

"Supply me with men and I may be able to build them. I shall see to their progress myself."

"Thank you, Mr. Tumnus. Henceforth, I name you Chief Royal Architect!"

"I am…grateful…for this honor, Sire."

"Get some rest. All of you. Inform me when Susan arrives. You are all dismissed."

**-oOo-**

Susan and Lucy's party arrived in the early hours of the morning, at first light. They were housed in caves that dotted the coast, well-hidden places the Calormenes would never think to look. Some were to be housed at Cair Paravel. After safely depositing most of their party in the caves, Susan, Lucy, and the remaining members of the party rode to Cair Paravel. They were admitted without ceremony lest the invading army find them out.

"Lucy! Susan!" Peter said, embracing his two sisters, "Come! Sit! Have breakfast. You must be tired from your journey. After you have eaten, you must report to me."

The meal was solemn, quiet, and hurried, not the usual warm meals the four used to have.


End file.
